Delicious Irony

The irony that silly me girlishly forgot to actually mention in the last post is this: My initial fear and trembling soon (inevitably?) turned into pleasure and purpose. Isn’t that always the way with the most exquisite of acquired tastes?

Especially a taste for cum.

You have to learn to like it, and I had so many great teachers. So many patient guys who took the time to teach me how to be their “pretty, little cumslut.”

But even more important were the real GG’s, like the nurses at the clinic testing me for HIV, who didn’t condemn me or make me feel kinky or embarrassed. Getting so-called “facials” was perfectly normal, they seemed to be saying in their nodding, knowing kind of way. Getting covered with a face-full of cum can cum with the territory of being a girl. (Were there too many cum’s, too much cum!, in that last sentence?)

GG’s, for those not in the know, are genetic girls, and they know everything that I want to know. More than mere mentors, they can do no wrong and are my ultimate role models, the goddesses whose secrets they alone can share.